Midwinter Inquisition
by idleness
Summary: Raoul's great-aunt Sebila presides over one last Midwinter. Written for Kris11 during Goldenlake's Holiday Wishing Tree event.


Raoul hated funerals. Family funerals were particularly detestable, he decided. And it was with such happy thoughts in mind that he paid his last respects to great-aunt Sebila. She'd hung on, in defiance of more than one healer's predictions, to preside over one final, humiliating Midwinter. Then she slipped away—quietly, almost serenely—one frosty January morning, just shy of her ninety-sixth year.

"We all thought the old biddy would never die," Raoul told Buri, the morning the note arrived. His voice caught a little—the news affected him more than he thought it would. This unexpected emotion necessitated a joke. "I thought she'd make 120 at least, out of spite."

"You sound disappointed," Buri teased gently. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I am, I guess."

He blinked away a slight wetness in his eyes, and was grateful that Buri pretended not to notice.

They'd been at Aunt Sebila's townhouse for Midwinter, just a couple of weeks prior. It was another one of her imperial summonses. While her hearing and her sight sometimes failed her, Aunt Sebila's mind was as sharp as anything and errant nephews were not neglected.

"Since we are married, dear wife, the invitation extends to you too," Raoul had informed Buri evilly. An evening filled with a torturous union of tedium and mortification was practically assured.

Aunt Sebila didn't disappoint.

"I wrote your father, the other day," said Aunt Sebila. She fixed Raoul with the slightly unfocussed stare of the nearly blind. "And I told him, as I'll tell you now, what a pity it is you didn't marry Lady Viola like I said you should."

Raoul stopped cutting his venison and stared at his aunt. From the corner of his eye he could see Buri, sitting opposite him, stare straight ahead and pretend not to have heard, though Aunt Sebila spoke loudly enough that all the other relatives present and even the servants waiting at the doors would certainly have heard her.

"Madam—"

But she wasn't finished.

"And your father and I both agree that if you'd picked a younger wife, you'd certainly have an heir by now."

"Yes, but Aunt—"

"Don't interrupt when you're being spoken to, boy," Aunt Sebila said haughtily. She turned to Buri. "I don't know how things are done where you're from, but you must know that here it is of the utmost importance that noblewoman bears her husband sons. The _utmost_ importance, I cannot stress it enough."

Raoul dropped his knife with a rude clatter and put his face in his palms.

"I understand, Madam," Buri says neutrally. Raoul felt her kick him under the table.

Aunt Sebila let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Good. I'm glad you have some sense in these matters. I am sure _you_ are doing everything in your power to get with child."

Raoul noticed that everyone else at the table was silent and listening intently. He decides this is worse than when she was trying to marry him off.

"It's difficult when we don't see each other for weeks at a time," Buri replies diplomatically. This is an outright lie—they've seen a lot of one another since the end of the war.

"Yes, and that's the other thing. Raoul, when will you stop playing soldier and settle down properly? Your father isn't a young man anymore, I'll have you know, and nor is your wife a young woman. I can't afford you wasting any more of my time."

Raoul managed to mumble something sufficiently evasive to satisfy her and the dinner continued, though she continued to inquire rudely and minutely into their personal affairs, recommending healers and midwives to Buri, offering to get fertility charms made, and dictating to him how a proper nobleman of his age and rank should behave.

By the time the dinner ended, Buri wore a dangerous, mutinous expression, and Raoul couldn't bring himself to reply to anyone with anything but a grunt.

What a relief it was to get back to their rooms in the Palace that night.

Raoul was jolted back to the present by Buri pressing a handkerchief into his palm.

"You should blow your nose. Your aunt would tell you off for sniffing all the time."

"It's just hay fever," he said, straight-faced. "These mouldy old family crypts..."

Buri elbowed him. He guessed she had tired of listening to him sniff and obediently blew his nose.

"It's not even as if I liked her," Raoul said plaintively as they walked out of the crypt and into the winter sun.

"No, but she was family."

Raoul couldn't say anything to that. They left the other mourners and walked hand in hand through the temple district, back towards the Palace. Suddenly Buri squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

"What a shame she didn't last another week."

"Why?"

"Because then you could've told her the good news."

"What good... You're not!"

"I am."

Raoul fainted.


End file.
